


Silversmith Tavern

by ThePowerofGoodbye



Category: Sons of Liberty (TV)
Genre: College AU, F/M, M/M, Past Abuse, Protective John, Sassy Sam, domestic abuse, kicked puppy Joseph
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:44:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3734398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePowerofGoodbye/pseuds/ThePowerofGoodbye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern Day College AU! Sprawled out on her bed in cousin John's penthouse the brusies peaked out from under Margaret's too loose sweater. New Jersey had not been good to her. Her fiancé, the professor, had not been good to her. But when Abigail introduces her to Joseph Warren New York becomes all the kinder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There are seven men crammed into one cell. Three bikers, two shaking teens covered in paint who look like they’re going to piss themselves any second, a junkie with the shakes on the floor, and Joseph Warren. He would like to say that he doesn't fit in here. What with his nicely groomed brown hair and name brand tennis shoes, just sitting with his hands to himself; but the blue bruises under red freckles of missing skin and blood splattering the front of his NYU sweatshirt said otherwise. But of course, like any man who had ever been in a fight, it wasn’t his fault.

 

The tweaker was starting to mutter to himself now. Drool creaking out of the corner of his lips through the static. Joseph’s hands twitched. He was giving the junkie sideways glances every twenty seconds. Counting off to himself how long each tremor lasted. Debating with himself whether or not he should climb down into the floor beside him or keep his hands folded safely, unconfrontingly, carefully in his lap. 

 

He didn’t have to decide before the wet rubber sound of a cop’s shined shoes could be heard squeaking down the hallway. The officer, a middle aged man with a jar head crew cut and a bulging belly that stoop pointedly below the bulge of his muscular arms, glared down Joseph through his one good eye. His other was swollen shut. Joseph rubbed his knuckles self consciously.

 

“Warren! Your bails been paid.”

 

Back straight and confident, footsteps shuffled and eager he skidded around the busted cop. On his way past he stops in front of the man in blue and points back through the bars at the huddled body that had tipped over into a heap on the ground. “Someone might want to check on him.”  
Down the hall John is waiting for him by the receptionist desk. Leaning his back against the counter, he looks like he wanted to collapse. 

 

His short black curls were sorted at random around his head, alternating on whether or not to stick to his head or reach for the sky. Below them the bags under his eyes had gone from blue to black as they layer on top of each other like makeup. He was still in his sweatpants and a black Harvard sweatshirt with a tan trench coat that seemed like it could have been Abigail’s grabbed in the dark by mistake. Point being, he looked like hell. Bad enough for Joseph to stop in his tracks and wince sympathetically.

 

But with Sam cooling his heels in a private cell John would have been dragged away from his quilt covered wife and the warm promise of sleep regardless. John glared at him anyway.“You punched a police officer?“ He rakes one hand through his curls, sending them sparling them back into three more directions. 

 

“John, it wasn’t my fault.”  
“It wasn’t your fault? The cop threw himself on your hand then I take it? What were you even doing at that rally anyways?”  
“I was,” he knew exactly how this was going to sound “I was trying to keep Sam out of trouble.” 

 

“You were trying to keep Sam out of trouble? And what, the speeches fired you up enough to deck a cop in front of thirty witnesses?” “He was beating down a bystander at that rally. Practically a kid, and he wasn’t even resisting arrest. Yet that man took off his night stick and started to flog him with it.” 

 

Joseph sighed finally stopping for a breath and to realize just how much he was beginning to sound like Sam. He leaned back next to his raven haired friend. “I couldn’t just stand back and do nothing.” He watches John carefully,eyeing the way he sighs and runs a gruff hand down his face. He was only twenty six but he was already beginning to take on the look of a forty year old man.

 

“Okay. Okay I’ll talk to the chief and see what I can do.” Joseph nodded. “What about Sam?” ‘Hu’ John scoffed under his breath, a smirk sliding onto his lips accidentally.

 

“Let him stew for a few more hours. Besides I’m sure he’s captivating his cell mates with a tale on how capitalism is draining the soul of democracy.”

 

………………………………………………… 

 

Cousin John’s apartment was bigger than she imagined. Not that Margaret Kemble wasn’t use to luxuries such as stylish apartments, but no one did things quite like John Hancock did. Everything he did was always on point. Even the decor of her bedroom. “So I take it everything is too your liking?” 

 

He called out with a half seriousness to his voice. He was teasing her from the doorway. He leaned against it with the trunks and bags that she had carefully packed her life away in sitting in neat stacks by his feet; watching with a peak of smile as she spun around the room with arms extended by her waist like she was dancing with herself. Twirling to a halt she smiled at him coyly. “Well it is a bit small. A bit frigid as well." 

 

Her room was a bit smaller than John’s on the penthouses main level but it still towered over the slight thing that was Margaret Kemble. Her long and slender body was built for dancing and grace, comparable to that of a swan, but it had already steadily began to thin and pull in as pounds were dropped and expensive cashmere sweaters had become too baggy. Stress, it was a killer. And any longer continued on Margaret and she may have been able to disappear into the overstuffed mattress that she threw herself back on. 

 

White, wheat blonde hair standing out against the lilac colored duvet like a halo. Bruises on her wrist blending right in. 

 

The rest of them remained carefully covered. Though both of them knew they were there, they were painfully aware of them. Hiding under the waist of her jeans, lying in wait beneath four layers of cover ups and foundations, skating painfully down her ribs. John, who hadn’t put them there or even been in the state when they were dulled out, was unable to forget them. His poor baby cousin.

 

New Jersey had not been good to her. Her fiance had not been good to her. Margaret closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of fresh coffee colored paint and the drifting smell of John's clone . She pushed up on her elbows and grinned. "Perhaps I should take up knitting."


	2. Sleepless Nights All Around

She couldn't sleep. No, not here. The bed was too big, too cool, and too soft. Too opening and safe and threatening to swallow her up like the a marshmallow man. Outside she could hear the city buzzing about full of life.

She loves that constant pulse of life and joy and movement. Just not at night. Competing with the sound of John's snoring from up the stairs when she sneaks out the door in her pajamas and bare feet.

There are paper bags with legs in the lobby. Two whole stacks of them. Margaret spots them curiously just as she steps foot out of the stairwell. She watches the stacks as they waddle hazardously on a pair of shapely legs in set of nude Christian louboutin pumps past the night manager and two men in suits seated to the side of the lobby on the way to the elevator. Margaret rolls her eyes at them before rushing through the lobby without thinking and pulling the top set of bags into her own arms.

"Oh, here! Let me help you with that."

With the barrier pulled away a smiling brunette is revealed. And she's smiling at Margaret, with a pearly white grin that seems like something Margret might have seen in a Colgate Ad and warm hazel eye.

"Oh thank God!" She sighs as the weight is pulled off her. "I didn't think I was gonna make it to the elevator! Ah, thank you! God knows those boys are no help." 

She throws her head back in the direction of the suits as she readjusted her remaining bags, a now much more manageable feat. 

"Would you mind terribly helping me get these back to my door?" Margaret agreed quickly with an amused slip of her own smile as the elevator doors parted in welcome. They only stood in silence for a handful of seconds before the bag lady who definitely did not look like a bag lady spoke up in her soft voice laced in a New York accent.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you my name. I'm Abigail, Abigail Adams." The younger blonde smiled with hesitant warmth, "Hello Abigail, I'm Margaret Kimble." She looked away for a brief moment before Abigail was speaking again. "So how long have you lived in the building Margret?" Margaret fumbled, not expecting questions.   
"Oh, um. Today's my first day actually."   
"And the apartment was so bad that you decided to spend the night in the lobby?"

Margaret gave a sheepish smile and Abigail chided herself for her nosiness. "I'm sorry, I just had never seen you in the building before and was curious. But I'll, just shut up now." She tried to look back at the wall but pulled her eyes back to Margaret before they could settle. "It's been a long day. And my coffee maker broke." 

Abigail smiled coyly when a burst of laughter escaped Margaret's lips. "Enough said." The elevator doors opened with a ding signaling the 12th floor and the ladies exited with smiles on their faces. "So where do you work Abigail?" "I'm a student teaching over at NYC High. Just until I can finish my degree." 

Margaret noticed the way Abigail's face seemed to simultaneously soften and lighten up at the mention of the school. Abigail cleared her throat before glancing back over at the younger blonde. "What about you? Do you work?" "Oh, um. No, no not right now. I'm actually transferring schools at the moment."

The subconscious way Margaret reaches to rub her wrist around the bags does not go unnoticed but Abigail stayed silent until they reach the apartment door. "Well this is it." Abigail struggles with unlocking the door with full arms but it doesn't take long before she has the door swinging open to a dark apartment. Her wedding ring catches the lights of the hall as she slips the bags in her arms down to the floor. Margaret suddenly feels awkward standing there and is glad to slip the bags back into Abigail's arms. 

"Thank you again so much. I don't think I could have made it up here alone. Lord knows those men would have been of no help." Margaret smiles, "Well never send a boy to do a woman's work." The girls giggled at their late night inside joke, the first of many as it felt.

There was a friendly hug and the exchange of goodnights before Abigail disappear behind the door of 23K with a smile and a soft click leaving Margaret alone yet again. Drowsiness suddenly hits her like a ton of bricks as if the sandman had hurried out the door just before it clicked shut as she makes her way back to John's apartment. Margaret is asleep before her head hits the pillow.

......

Five blocks away Joseph Warren unlocks his door to silence. A silent, empty apartment greets him and his aching muscles coldly. He sighs, tossing his keys blindly onto the table by the door where mail was kept carefully organized and b-lines for the kitchen. tossing open the freezer door tiredly he reaches for the first frozen thing he sees; a bag of peas with the Jolly Green Giant smiling up at him. He winces at the pressure against his swollen knuckles before relaxing into it with a soft moan. 

The red light flashes on the answering machine as Joseph walks pases the living room. He stops mid walk and shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to decide if he should press play. Against his better judgment, he does and tosses himself down on the sofa as Mr. Warren's booming voice filled the room. 

"Joseph Steven Warren! You were arrested?! What in the hell were you thinking boy?! I told you if you continued running around with Sam-" 

There was a rustling sound as the phone was ripped his father's hands before his mother's voice rang in like a bell. 

"Oh stop Jo! You're just raising both of your blood pressures! Now Joseph, honey. We're just worried about you is all. We haven't heard from you in a week and then John calls us to say that you've been arrested. For assault no less! You know how I feel about violence..." 

There was a yell and crash in the background. Dad had probably punched the desk again. An angry tick left over from his courtroom lawyer days. 

"We just wished you would look after yourself more is all. With you living in the city, and always paling around with poor Samuel. Oh Sam," she sighs, "I know that you're trying to look out for him and we're proud of you for that." 

His father snorts in the background.

"But he just hasn't been the same since Elizabeth and we don't want you to be dragged down with him."

Her chirpy voice weighted. 

"We just don't want you mucking up your own future. We love you Joseph, call us back-"

The machine cuts off. 

The pain in Joseph's head rivals that of his hand but the kitchen is too far a venture even for aspirin. Instead he lolls his head to the left to glance out the window. Outside there are cars honking and bright lights shining despite the late hour. Making the apartment feel quieter in the dark. Joseph closes his eyes. His last thought? 

'Maybe I should get a dog.'


End file.
